Painted Face and French Braid
by Jasque
Summary: The girl is aggravating, but he needs a distraction, so he agrees to her absurd request.


This is my take on repeatinglitanies Dark Castle prompt. Little!Belle was fun to write and I hope it is fluffy enough.

_Prompt: Rumpelstiltskin provides Belle with all the hairpins and cosmetics she could wish for. Although Belle tries her best to make do without mirrors, there's always a lock of hair or a lip stain out of place. Not wanting a shoddy looking maid about his castle (at least that's what he tells himself), Rumpelstiltskin decides to help her put on her cosmetics and style her hair._

* * *

In the 300 odd years of his existence, no one has requested a request such as hers. The little blue-eyed 10-year-old looks up at him owlishly; her auburn curls bouncing to the tune of her rocking heels. Oh, it had taken a full ten minutes to wrestle the request out of her–she has a habit to mumble when nervous–but she finally states her request clearly.

"Very well," is his short reply and he lets out a heavy sigh when she gives a squeal of delight before skipping up the stairs to her room. Waving off her requests with threats of punishments if she were to harass him on the matter no longer has the same effect as they once did. If he does not consent now, the little demon might pester him about it until his resolve crumbles.

He wonders when she has stopped fearing him and determines it is her job to give him bright smiles and the occasional hugs. Ah, it is useless asking these questions now. His scheming and potions research can wait; it is not like any progress has been made when the little tyrant barged in demanding his attention. This absurd request is probably the distraction he needs.

Entering her room, he sees she has carefully arranged the cosmetics on her dressing table. Two upholstered stools are placed side by side. Rubbing his forehead, he questions his sanity and if this is the right kind of distraction. With those thoughts he soon finds himself sitting on a stool facing her, and begins painting her face–for it aptly describes what he is doing.

They argue over which colours look best on her and how much to apply. Being one who constantly tries to steer him away from dark deals (not that he ever listens), amazingly, she never crosses that bossy line. Now, however, he needs to re-evaluate his opinion of her. She is definitely showing her bossiness in spades, especially when he rebuts her opinions. This nerve-wracking activity ends up with her looking more like a jester than a fresh-faced girl. Her lips and cheeks are painted blood red while the eyelids are a brilliant shade of blue. The rest of her face is powdery white, as if she has submerged it in a bag of flour.

"Do I look pretty Rumpelstiltskin?" she asks with such an expectant look on her face. He may be a cruel manipulative monster, but he does not relish in hurting a child's feeling.

He cocks his head and looks at her, contemplating how best to respond to her question. The answer must have been evident on his face for her eyes start to appear sadder and glassier the longer he stays quiet. Struggling to form a coherent sentence he stutters out: "Belle, I … I'm … well that's not–"

"You don't have to apologise. I know I look quite a fright," she says softly, lowering her head in shame.

Lifting her chin so he can look her in the eyes, he softly whispers, "What brought this on? You've never been vain before." He is curious why she suddenly takes an interest in her appearance since she has been rather loud in her protests whenever he tells her to look presentable.

Biting her lower lip her gaze darts about the room, looking at anything but him. Settling to stare at something on his far left while her fingers blindly trace the patterns on her dress, she finally mumbles out an answer. Good heavens, he needs to break this mumbling habit of hers! Where ever did she pick it up? He did not realize he gave a long suffering sigh until she takes a peek at him; most probably trying to gauge his reaction is not the cursed-first-questions-later. She heaves a sigh (he is starting to wonder if she gets this habit from him) and clearly answers his question, "I wanted to look like my mama." That was not the answer he expected.

Taking his silence as an elaboration request she continues, "We used to play dress up and act out scenes from books." She pauses and a slight smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she recalls the memories. "I always wanted to be the brave traveller and mama's either the villain or the princess. She liked details and would go to great lengths: sewed our costumes, carved out wooden swords and even trained a kitten to play its part as messenger."

"What I remember most was how beautiful mama looked, even as a blotchy-faced villain." At this, she lets out a giggle and then a real smile graces her face, but they soon disappear as she turns to face the dressing table's mirror and stares at her reflection. "I've tried to find her in me, but all I see is my papa. My eyes are the only part of her that I have. I … I fear I may forget her with time. Foolishly I tried to …" she could not find the words, so she gestures to the myriad of cosmetics that litters the dressing table.

"Am I a fool Rumpelstiltskin?"

Instead of answering her question, he picks up his stool and moves to sit behind her. Picking up a brush he starts to smoothen out the tangles in her hair. "You are no fool," he says, taking a large portion of hair from the top centre of her head. "There is more of your mother in you than you realise," he continues and at the same time separates the chunk of hair into three sections. "Your curiosity and penchant for trouble for example, they are all from your mother." His deft fingers begin their course of braiding a French braid into her hair.

"Did you know mama well? How did you two meet?" She is indeed a curious one, definitely her mother's daughter. Turning her head, she tries to face him. Gently–not wanting to scratch her with his clawed-nails–he turns her face to face the mirror.

"Oh, I've known her since she was your age. She was feisty and never let others decide her fate," he replies as his fingers continue braiding. Her hair is ridiculously long; maybe he'll convince her to cut it tomorrow.

"Could you tell me more about her … after dinner?" She looks at him via the mirror with hopeful eyes. Finding it hard to refuse her when she directs him that particular look, he agrees. Does she know the power she has over his heart or how her kindness is slowly peeling away his layers of armour? He is afraid, afraid of his growing affection for this little orphan girl. He suddenly feels claustrophobic and hastily braids the remaining length of hair.

"There, all done!" he says in a sing song voice and quickly stands up to leave her room. When he reaches for the door handle a small pair of hands circles his waist, freezing him in his tracks. Belle presses her face into his back and gives a muffle 'thank you'. Rumpelstiltskin awkwardly pats her hands as he a mutters out a 'you're welcome' (wonderful, now he is certain of the source of her horrible habits to sigh and mumble).

Walking up the stairs to his tower he wonders how the girl manages to wriggle her way into his heart. She must be some kind of a worm in her past life. Then again, it is not a surprise considering who her mother was. Rumpelstiltskin smiles to himself and thinks it has been a good day indeed.


End file.
